


Double Take

by sweetoceancloud



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Wallander (UK TV), Wallander - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetoceancloud/pseuds/sweetoceancloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings:  Language, Sexual Situations, Possible Dub-Con, Wet showers, twins, and one confused Swedish woman.  And yes, I know.  I used the phrase "writ large" again.  :) This story goes along with Black Dahlia.  Should probably read that first. :) Or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Take

Double Take

I woke to the sound of Sweden in the early morning. Well, not the entire country, but a tiny, but important part of it. Ostermalm. Stockholm. Stockholm was alive, a living thing; the city conducting its own cacophonous symphony; playing melodies upon its cars, sirens; in point and counterpoint with children in the park and business people on their way to work chatting away on their mobiles -- their overloud voices carrying up, up, upwards, and floating into the open window of the bedroom in my brother’s new flat. 

So, I woke, stirring slightly, letting my hand move, the pads of my fingers curling against and feeling the soft, satiny gazillion thread count Egyptian cotton sheets that lined my brother’s guest bed. I’d heard and felt Lova rise –her groan as she stretched, the pitter pat of her tiny feet upon the thick hickory floor, and then the sounds of Sweden pouring in when she’d cranked open the casement window.

Lova bent to me, and planted the seed of a kiss upon my forehead. She entrenched her fingers, combing little troughs through my hair; letting the pads of her fingers trickle down my face, my neck, and chest, until her touch evaporated altogether. “Sleeping beauty,” she’d murmured and laughed, deep and throaty.

“Mmm. More like, the Beast,” I’d yawned in reply.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll make breakfast,” she kissed my cheek, buried me once again beneath the duvet, and left me to relish in the cool morning air on my face and neck. 

I lay there, eyes closed, taking in the sounds and scents and letting myself float upon that middle layer of sleep where the senses sharpen into focus. I heard the percolation of coffee, bolstered by the sudden scent of Gevalia’s Espresso Roast. Then, there was the thwuck open and thwap shut of the refrigerator door, the thunk of crockery upon quartz, and the tinkle-tinkle of dry muesli being poured into bowls. 

Then came the sound of bare feet slapping upon marble, this time working its way toward the main bathroom, right across the hallway. Then the noise of clothing slumping to the floor, the shower door opening, the tap creaking, and water flowing.

I’d wondered for a moment why Lova decided not to use the en-suite shower in the guest room. But I shrugged it off.

I swung my legs down and stretched, raising my arms up in a salutation to the sun and yawning, widely and vocally. I scratched my stomach, adjusted my cock in my boxer shorts, and stood. 

Padding over to the doorway, I watched as Lova opened the bathroom door and walked in, shedding her tight black yoga pants and her even blacker Amon Amarth Fate of Norns t-shirt. I followed, quietly, intending to just stand in the bathroom doorway and watch her take her morning ablutions through the glass shower door.

I licked my morning-dry lips and cupped myself at the thought of it. 

Yes, perhaps I was perverted, but she was my girlfriend. I was allowed the pleasure… oh, yes, the pleasure… of a little voyeurism now and again, and then there was the very thought of Lova in the shower. I took advantage, frequently. I’d watched her shower before, not only here but at home. Needless to say, it was an erotic sight; all that hot, hot, water shooting in streams from both sides of the shower stall, and all that steam and the slick, slippery sunflower scented soap working against and over Lova’s pale, pale skin -- skin set out in a beautiful contrast to the dark grey slate stone shower tile. 

But what I saw that morning was unexpected.

Lova opened the back of the shower door, and stepped inside. Once in the shower, she pressed the full length of her body against the man who had already been inside, mid-shower.

The man stiffened and let out a small yelp of surprise.

I, myself, was surprised to see him, this other person in the flat Lova and I were staying in. 

I wasn’t alarmed, though. I knew him. I knew him very well, in fact. The man in the shower was incredibly and intimately familiar to me. 

He was tall, only a few centimetres shorter than I was. His hair, when dry and untamed, stuck up all over the place in a mass of Swedish blond curls. Just then, however, those curls clung darkly to his scalp and neck, sluicing water down over his shoulders and face, bits of hair plastered to his forehead with the wet. 

Just like mine did in the shower.

We shared the same face; a broad, high forehead, overlarge eyes – his green, mine blue -- set narrowly atop a long, straight nose, jutting cheekbones, a rounded chin, lantern jaw, and a strong, thin-set, slightly too-wide mouth. Although, I will say that to contrast our features, his nose was too long and my chin too weak, but it’s the way things go when one is forced to compare himself to his twin brother his entire life.

Yes. My older brother by twenty minutes, Ansgar, had come home. I was glad to see him, but our reunion would have to wait.

He'd returned unannounced after nearly two years living and working in the US, and apparently, he had made himself back at home – in his own flat – without letting us know he was going to be there.

More like, not disturbing us in the middle of the night, which is when he very likely got back in.

And now, Lova had climbed into the shower with him, bent upon prurient intent – mistaking my brother, who called himself Gary, for me.

Oh, this was going to be good. Very good. The absolute wicked best.

I watched. I grinned but said nothing. I made no move, no noise, nothing, wanting to let this play out.

I needed some levity in my life and goddamn it I‘d get it any way I could.

Yes, even at the expense of my girlfriend and my brother.

Gary stiffened, as I had said, as Lova curled her hands around his middle; those lithe yet deliciously calloused hands roving lower and lower, exploring, flattening themselves over his abdomen. Nimble fingers gripped Gary’s hipbones, splayed over the tops of his thighs, only to come back up to circle around upon his torso. She placed tiny, butterfly light kisses upon his upper back and shoulders, snaking her tongue out now and then to lick droplets of water from his skin, making me shudder.

Gary’s head bent, his jaw dropped open; water flowed with gravity in long, thin lines from the sides of his face as he watched Lova’s pointer and middle fingers twine in and out amongst his wet, dark, curly body hairs; one hand twisting fully around to grip the solidifying flesh between his legs.

Gary gasped, moaning libidinously at the contact. “Oh, God… what the?” He threw his head back and arched his spine. His hands flew to his middle, grasping Lova atop her own hands, stilling her movements. “Jesus! Lova?!” 

“What’s wrong, Magnus?” Lova purred, her voice almost quavering over the din of the dual shower heads. She raised up on her toes and licked his earlobe, biting down on the fleshy bit there and eliciting another drawn-out murmur of pleasure that should have been mine. 

Spurred on, Lova crawled her fingers up Gary’s back and he arched against it; pressing his hips forward and crying out with a choked “ah” as he did so. “Lova, oh shit… Lova, I….unggg, oh, fuck.”

“Shhh, not a word.” With her other hand, Lova clutched Gary by the hair, moved her body around to his side, and pulled him down for a searing, hot, open mouthed and visible-tongued kiss. She wasn’t shy about it. Her flattened tongue ventured out between her gaping lips, and my own salivary glands flooded at the sight of it. 

Frankly, it took everything I had not to fist my own flesh, or worse, to whimper and give myself away.

Gary, on the contrary, did actually whimper against shower-soaked Lova’s mouth, his half-hearted protests against her intrusion (sounding a bit like this: “Mgnsssshhh whrs…Mgn…Mgnusssssshhh) were muffled by her lips and tongue. 

I held back a laugh. Yet. Yet, the rest of my body responded in quite a different way. 

For, you see, I knew what she was doing, what parts of his mouth her tongue was exploring, the exact dance she was performing for him. Thinking of that sinful choreography, I was compelled beyond my own control to bring hand to my own mouth, where I could feel my breaths come faster and heavier against my fingers. I pressed the reddened skin there back and forth enough to draw moisture and distort the line of my lips. 

I was equally as compelled to reach down with my other hand and scratch, ever so lightly, at the skin at the top of my thigh beneath my boxer shorts. 

Honestly, I didn’t know how much longer I could take watching this.

Yet, I couldn’t help myself.

Lova adjusted her grip on his hair, lower this time, toward his nape, and twisted him completely around to face her. She sucked at his neck, singing into him, very likely breaking thousands of tiny little capillaries between her lips, creating one of those little purple welts upon his skin. 

I wanted one of those little purple welts, damn it. 

Just as I was about to caress the side of my neck, I was once again treated to the sounds of my brother's keening -- in a voice sounding very, very similar to my own -- with sexual pleasure as my girlfriend worked her hipbones against the front of his. She pressed her centre to him just that little bit higher, letting whatever heated, wet skin and flesh of hers come into contact with whatever utterly hardened skin and flesh of his and come-what-may. 

Gary flinched, his facial features scrunched up in a strange moue of severe inner conflict, mixed with intense pleasure and increasing panic. His bodily rapture was made obvious in the involuntary thrust of his hips against her; his body a Judas to his sense of loyalty to me, whatever that was. 

“Lova,” he groaned. “I… I can’t. I’m not….oh, God, but you…where’s….” In spite of his protests, Lova pressed her breasts against Gary’s pectoral muscles, making the fleshy mounds perk and pillow out quite invitingly -- something I would have immediately taken full and quick advantage of. 

Which, Gary nearly did. I watched, fascinated, as he licked his lips and lifted his hands to the level of her chest. His fingers hovered just that tiny bit over her breasts, close, but not quite touching her there, fisting themselves, his thumbs twitching in and out, rubbing over a set of imaginary nipples. 

Touch her, I thought. Come on, man. Do it. Do it. Now. 

My own palms itched with the memory of it. My right hand moved closer, ever so closer to my sex, that delightful organ which had left a drop of moisture upon the inside of my boxer shorts. 

I forced my upper teeth painfully into my bottom lip to prevent my mouth from giving verbalisation to what I was feeling.

Gary’s fingering the air, his touching but not touching served only to elicit a low, rumbling growl of frustration from Lova, who pressed herself even closer to him. Growing confused, she tilted her head and cooed, “Come on, Magnus, touch me, what’s wrong with you?” 

I, with a sudden desperation, wanted nothing more than to be in Gary’s place, to grasp him firmly by the shoulders and toss him bodily out of the shower. I wanted it so much that I was second-guessing my decision to let this lurid scene play out. 

It was no longer funny.

In fact, the very sight of it, of Lova’s relentless sexual attack upon my twin brother, gave me the sensation not unlike that described by Dumas in the Corsican Twin story we’d read as children. My cock twitched, demanding respite and release beneath my probing hand, imagining, feeling, aching for the taction and feeling that Gary was experiencing.

Lova took a handful of Gary’s arse and pressed him into her, and Gary cried out again. That, mixed with Lova’s own lewd moans and it became like watching my own real-life fantasies come true from a distant point. It felt as if I were floating somewhere outside and looking down upon my own body. I turned on the spot and leaned my back heavily against the doorframe, my legs spread apart and my hand tucked awkwardly within my pants. I grasped myself and bit back yet another groan. 

I turned my head to the side and looked again, my eyes glazing over and my mouth hung open, hand and elbow working silently yet furiously. With the shower, and the noises, and their bodies behind the glass now silhouetted by a thick layer of steam, and the scent of Lova’s arousal in the air; even though my rational mind knew that was Gary in the shower with Lova, my animalistic mind – which was rapidly taking over -- saw myself, which, in all reality, wasn’t too far off. 

And neither was I.

Until Lova bent to her knees. Her back pressed against the glass, and removed a large swath of steam, giving me a perfect, unhindered view of her glorious backside. Her eyes were fixed upon Gary's, and her hands splayed over his torso, nails dragging down, down, down, as she lowered herself to the shower floor. 

I jerked; both with my hand and with my body. I perked up out of my sexual stupour and my eyes went wide. Holy shit, she was going to go down on him. 

Part of me wanted to stop it.

But another part of me wanted to watch it happen.

"Lova, no!" Gary bent and grasped Lova by the shoulders, lifting her up off the tile. "Don't do that." 

"What?" Lova licked her lips lasciviously. "I like to. You know I like to." 

She bent again, and again, Gary scooped her up. “Lova!” Gary choked, finally able to gather himself. “Lova, don’t. Please don't. Stop. I’m… I can’t…I’m not….”

“Shut your face, Martinsson, I’ve had enough of your pansy shit,” Lova hissed, changing tactics, forcing his head down for yet another attack of the lips. “Your mouth’s not meant for talking right now, anyway.” 

Gary whimpered low in his throat and, pushed hard at her shoulders. He kept her, gripping her biceps tight an arm's length away, thus deftly avoiding any further contact with her pursed lips, wandering hands, or her ample breasts – although, that was the direction in which his eyes pointed.

Strangely enough, that twitch beneath my hand and in my groin morphed into a twitch of my lip as a delayed sense of jealousy set in, especially when Gary licked his lips at the sight of my girlfriend’s wet body. 

Yet, I stopped. I didn’t move. Not an inch of me. Not even my hand.

“Lova.” Gary twisted behind him and turned the tap off. The water from both showerheads hissed, the pressure reduced to a thin trickle. He took her again by the shoulders and shook her a little. “Look at me, Lova. Really look at me.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to be looking at other than your stupid face and your deflating dick? Since when do you ever stop me sucking you off?! What's wrong with you?”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me? Can’t you even tell what’s wrong by looking at me?” Another shake. “I…oh God, please, for the love of Christ, don’t do that!” Lova had bent her knees and drawn her splayed fingers down his chest again, trying her teasing tactic a second time. Gary's hand darted out, snatching at hers. He tossed it contemptuously away from him. "Just stop. That's enough." 

Lova sneered, huffing in anger. "Enough? You never get enough! All you ever want to do is fuck, why is this time different?" She threw her hands up. "Know what? Screw you, Magnus!" She screamed, pointing a finger into Gary's chest.

He grabbed that offending finger. “For Christ’s sake, Lova! Will you knock it off? I’m not Magnus.” 

Time to put an end to this, I thought. I drew my hand out from my boxers and coughed. Gary's eyes swiveled, and then his head turned; slowly, deliberately. Angrily, he caught my eye, and sneered. I coughed again and laughed out loud, which, in turn, attracted Lova’s attention. 

Her eyes went comically wide. She looked to me, then Gary, then back to me again, and yet again, back to Gary. "Crap." She rolled her eyes and smacked her palm against her forehead. Her pale skin flushed nearly red with embarrassment from head to toe. “G…Gary?” 

Gary shrugged, reaching over the shower door, plucking a towel from the high hook and wrapping it around his middle. “It’s me,” Gary spat, pursing his lips at me with extreme displeasure. 

Lova, suddenly and strangely shy, covered her body with her two arms and pushed frantically at the shower door with her shoulder. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to,” Gary shrugged, handing her another towel, and opening the door for her, “but you told me to shut up! And you wouldn’t stop touching me, and for Christ’s sake, I’m a bloke, and you’re… you’re well…. You're. You.... I got turned on, I’m sorry!”

Lova nearly threw the overlarge sheet of terrycloth around her body. She stalked out of the bathroom, her head down. She passed me, muttering to herself, stopped in the middle of the bedroom doorway and whirled. She stared at me, her eyes hard-set, fierce, yet needy. She took three prescise steps toward me, raised her head, her eyes locked to mine and pressed her hand into my centre. I gasped with the contact as she squeezed, curling her fingers around my extremely hard erection.

And she smiled. No, she grinned, showing me every single one of her pearly white teeth, her tongue playfully touched upon the roof of her mouth. Her eyes were crinkled and her nose scrunched – her plan for revenge upon me writ large upon her features. 

Oh shit. I was in for it. 

Which was perfect. I was ready for it. After that, I needed it.

"You, with me, now." Lova grasped my boxer shorts by the waistband, and dragged me with her into the guest bedroom. 

“Welcome home, Gary,” I wheezed.

“Thanks, Mags," he laughed, "see you in about a half hour.” Gary knew full well what was about to happen. 

“Yes, half hour,” I replied, distracted.

"Unless, of course, you've a spot in there for me to have a turn. You know. To watch, as we’ve always... shared everything, Magnus...you and I."

***


End file.
